Gold To Threatened

The blackened sheet, the near-destroyed

Dream with which I've ever toyed...

Shall the millions waiting

Be enthralled, or be annoyed?

Out of my fire, barely saved, 

Comes this priceless, hated page.

Was my Dream well-aimed, or poor,

When it, to man, I gave?

In my Core, where I've returned,

Revisiting what I've learned,

Upon this hearth I gently place

Written lessons I've discerned.

Pained learnings of a mind quite sore

Remind me what I did it for-

This life of stunning, priceless thorn-

Here in my invincible Core.

Thousands of pages, still waiting,

A Dream that soothes the hating...

What can a dream battler do

To keep dream, and hate, from mating?

Upon the hearth, my hand, all red

From life-water it has bled.

No apologies for the words

That, from my heart, I said.

Knowing not the whole, entire

Cost that might come from my ire,

I have saved the cover, too,

From my homemade fire.

I know nothing.  I know not

Twixt page's type, what lives are caught.

Knowing, though, I mustn't quit.

I do that which I ought.

I take threatened pages, as one,

Off the hearth.  They are not done.

I also take my crystal pen, of

Golden ink, I once won.

Millions of words written, for

Each soul having much in store.

Millions written, I must write

All that I have come here for.

Gold-filled crystal, here in my Core,

Gold to threatened,  I write one more.
Tis you, O Reader, I write it for.

Adam Scott Campbell